Thinking About My Age
by Ophelia Glace
Summary: (The Lost Boys) As an old woman, Star reflects on her life past, present, and infinite-seeming future. Thoroughly revamped, so to speak.


My hands shake now, constantly, I am too old. Yesterday I dropped a glass in the kitchen, while I was putting away the clean dishes. It hit the tile floor and shattered in a million sparkling shards, and I just left there, it's still there. I can't deal with it, not right now.  Maybe… no, I'm too old to deal with my age. Lawrence called again last night, he's too considerate of an old woman, not that he's young himself, but he has too much to worry about without me. His wife is dying, ten years younger than I am, and I still go on. I get older and older, and show no sign of failing health. Sometimes I think I will live forever. Or at least until my body becomes so ancient and desiccated that I am blown away like dust on some little wind. Of course...I only think that after the dream.  
  
He smiled at me again last night, and the moon limned his features with that fae glow I fell in love with. There was sand beneath our feet, and evil in our hearts, and-  
  
"What would you say if I told you you were a kiss away from immortality?"  
  
***  
  
Lawrence is staying in Olivia's room now. He could not stand to stay in the house where she died. We sat at breakfast together, dragging our spoons across our microwaved oatmeal, and wondering the same thing. He said it, at last, which saddened me; I should have been brave enough. "I am sixty-eight years old, Star, my wife died three days ago. She was fifty- seven. You are eighty, and have outlived your three children. Is it-is it just a coincidence that the three of us keep living while the world dies around us?"  
  
I can't believe that he would be so blunt, so brutal. That he would dare say 'three' in my house, no matter how old the grievance...but.  
  


But my daughter's name was Olivia, and she died two years ago at the age of sixty.  She was my eldest.  I think it was cancer, but I don't know… so many people I've loved are dead.  Cancer, heart attack, car accident, what's the difference?  They're dead anyway.  She had the most gorgeous blue eyes; Daniel's eyes, her father's eyes.  I loved Daniel, even if his eyes frightened me.  His eyes always made me think of my grandfather.

_"That Kevin, you can't marry that Kevin.  He hurt you."_

_"Not Kevin, Papi, Daniel.  I was only with Kevin for a little while.  I love Daniel; I've known Daniel for a long time. I'm going to marry him.  Not Kevin, Papi, Daniel."_

_"Damned white boys, all look the same."_

Yes Papi, sometimes they all look the same.

  
***  
  
"What is wrong with you?" "Me? Me? I'm afraid of you, don't you see? You hate him, hate him! I wanted you to help me, save me! But this is crazy, this is evil!" "What are you talking about? Star, you're nuts." "You hate David, Michael, you want him dead. You're mad; I won't have any part of this."  
I couldn't believe, just at that moment, that he had laid a hand on me.  I couldn't believe that I had misjudged, or that in a few weeks he could have changed so much, or any of the million things that came into my head.  I was quiet, I was stunned.  I looked into his eyes and saw that cold light, that heatless flame that meant he might love me, but he would go through me as quick as he would go around me.

  
***  
  
"Have you heard from him?" He shakes his head. "But I saw him the other day, Star.  Passing the supermarket. God...he didn't look a day over forty."  
Only two men in my life have ever made me do anything.  One was Michael, and the other had eyes like my Daniel's.

  
***  
But so cold.  
"I have absolutely nothing to say to that." My laugh falls dead and cold at my feet, those eyes, so intense, fixed upon my soul. The smile that warped the world in its purely innocent evil, and the taste of blood on his lips.

***

  
I woke sweating and scared one night, and nearly killed my Daniel, who was so light a sleeper, and woke every time I so much as moaned.  He used to sit up and watch me on the worst nights, because he could not sleep.  God damned white boys all look the same, in some lights.  

But every man is different.

  
***  
  
Abuse runs in families, they say, and I know it.  At least, I know being abused runs in families.  

Only two men could ever push me around, and one of them only tried it once.  Kevin, he wasn't one of the two, but he tried.  I told him to go to hell, and he put me in the hospital.

Funniest thing I ever saw, the look on his face when I brought assault charges against him.  Sorry, Kev', you're not that scary.

  
***  
  
I am still alive, but my daughter is not.  Neither of them is, but I was thinking of Maria.

  
***

"You know you're only still here because you don't get it yet."

"You're being stupid and petulant, come to bed or let me sleep."

He chilled me to the bone when he loved me most.  He was always so angry at me for his loving me.  

"You don't believe it yet."  I hated him, of course, and I hated being so cold.  I hated him for God only knows how many reasons. Mostly, I think, because I loved him.  He came to bed that night, and we were ice.  But I hated him, when I loved him, and he was just angry.

***  
  
Whatever you can teach your daughter about that, I must not have taught Maria, because he killed her.

I felt so horrible, so guilty, and so hateful.  I wanted to kill him, and I wanted to kill myself, and Olivia spent the night with me, and Daniel was out.  He was harassing the police, and he did a good job of it, too, for they found the bastard quickly.

I hated the police for awhile, because we had called them before.  I was so full of hate, it made me ill.

***  
  
I loved my Maria.  
  
***  
There was blood on his lips one last time, and it made me tremble how familiar I was with the taste of blood.

"Oh, God, David, I've-"

"Shut up, Star. "  Bizarre kiss of all bizarre kisses, so much sweeter than any other we'd had. 

"But David I'm s-"

"No."  The sadistic bastard, he did it just to break my heart I'm sure.  I would have sold my soul all over again to take it back.  Why?  Because that devil had to prove, once more, that I would do whatever he wanted me to, in the end.  
***

I knew that I could only stand up to Kevin because I could look myself in the mirror, and I could tell myself, "This man is not David."  And he didn't scare me anymore.  I had always known that, but… I looked at my baby lying dead on that metal, bruised almost beyond recognition, and I realised something that still frightens me.

I owe David my life.   
  
***  
Moonlight on his hair made it silver, and he was as pale as porcelain the first time I saw him.  He looked so chilled, like he was carved in snow.

I saw evil in him the first time I ever looked at him.

He could even make me mourn for him, if only for a second.  
***  
  
I looked myself in the mirror, and, shaking with the loss of my youngest, my baby girl, I spoke strange words.  "Thank you, David."  
I owe him each one of their lives, too.  
  
***  
  
"Why do you keep this picture on the mantel, of all places?"  
Poor Lawrence has never been particularly delicate with death, and never comfortable either.  But then, who is?  He is staring now in undisguised disgust at the photograph I stole from the ME's office.  I know why I keep it, but he does not need to.

"It is a picture of the last time I saw my girl.  Why wouldn't I keep it out?"

And now I think I've frightened him.  But it's alright, he'll get it, eventually.

He's figured everything else out, and it looks like he has plenty of time.

  
***  
  



End file.
